


Wee Hours

by laurashapiro



Series: Coming to Light [5]
Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, post-North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-01
Updated: 2001-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/laurashapiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franny wonders how to be useful. Meanwhile, Fraser and Ray's wilderness adventure raises some issues that neither of them wants to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wee Hours

**Author's Note:**

> In my world, The Vault happens before North, air dates be damned.
> 
> Fraser quotes D. H. Lawrence. The complete quotation is: "To place absolute trust on another human being is in itself a disaster, both ways, since each human being is a ship that must sail its own course, even if it go in company with another ship."
> 
> Thanks are eternally due to Pares, Hal, The Spike, Te, Livia, Cody, Naomi, Speranza, and everyone who has been so supportive through this maddening process.

When they limped back to civilization, if you could call the tiny riverside town civilization, they still had nine vacation days left. But Ray knew they'd both be back on duty, helping out with the investigation, as soon as a doctor pronounced Fraser fit for it.

Obviously there would be some kind of investigation, but Ray couldn't feel too bad about killing the perp. In addition to the murders the hijacker had committed and the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on Benny and Ray personally, it had clearly been self-defense. No court in the world would convict a man who defended himself from a Sig Sauer using only a couple of rocks and some string.

Ray would be happy if he never saw another rock again. Or a tree or, god help him, a furry nightcrawler. His stomach growled loudly, and Dief whined in sympathy. Fraser, walking beside him, refrained from comment.

Fraser walking. It still hadn't lost its charm. Too close, too many times. At least this time Ray didn't have any reason to feel guilty about it. In fact, he felt -- well, weird. Whenever he thought about Benny almost dying out there, and how he'd carried him -- well, he just felt weird. Uncomfortable.

Well, they were out of it now. There was a single light on in the little cluster of buildings before them, and Ray made for it as fast as he could. A warm bed. Food. He could call his mother and tell her he was all right. And he'd get Fraser to a doctor.

Fraser was keeping pace with him just fine. Ray didn't know what motivated him -- in a hurry to close the case, maybe? He sure didn't care about little things like food and shelter, to hear him tell it.

Ray shook his head. He didn't give a damn what Fraser wanted. He was cold, starving, and exhausted, and relief was in sight. Dief barked joyfully and trotted ahead.

The single light turned out to belong to the local watering hole. The barkeeper was just closing up, but he took one look at Ray and Fraser and gestured to the bar. "What can I get you?"

"If you have anything to eat, we'd be very grateful," Fraser said with a hearty smile. Where he got the energy to smile was beyond Ray.

The bartender, a heavy brown-skinned man in his early forties with a wide face, long ponytail, and tufted eyebrows, set a bowl of pretzels on the bar.

Fraser thanked him, introduced himself and Ray, and asked "Could you tell us where we are?"

The man took another look at them. "Fort McKay," he said, filling two glasses with water. He regarded them thoughtfully for a moment, said "Just a minute, please," and disappeared out the back door.

"He's leaving us alone with the till?" Ray indicated the open cash register where the man had been totaling the day's receipts.

"No doubt he's deduced that we're more in need of his hospitality than we are of his money." Fraser drained his glass.

"Canadians," Ray snorted around a mouthful of pretzels. God, real food. Well, sort of. He offered Dief a couple of them and got his hand thoroughly wolf-slobbered as a result. "Where are we, anyway?"

"Evidently we crashed just south of the Territories. Fort McKay is in northern Alberta, a First Nations town."

"Not much of a town if you ask me."

All too soon the bowl was empty. Ray leaned over the bar and fished around for more.

"Ray!"

"What? You said the guy knew we were hungry, and he left us here to fend for ourselves. He --" The back door opened and the barkeep entered, carrying in front of him a steaming pot of something in his oven-mitted hands. The smell was incredible.

"Got some leftover beef stew here," he muttered, setting the pot down on a couple of bar napkins. He poured half the contents into the empty pretzel bowl and pushed it in front of Ray, then nudged the pot over to Fraser. "You two need a place to stay tonight?"

Ray's mouth was filling so fast he had to swallow repeatedly while the guy found a couple of bar spoons. Fraser, unflappable as ever, answered, "That's very hospitable of you. Thank you kindly."

The guy set the spoons down in front of them and found another bowl for Dief. At last. Ray lifted a piece of potato, glistening with a meaty brown sauce redolent of wine and bay, to his lips --

"Be careful not to burn yourself, Ray. And don't eat too quickly. Cramps could result."

"Thanks, mom," Ray sneered, and then remembered with a pang. "Oh, crap. You got a phone?" He reluctantly abandoned his bowl of stew.

The bartender nodded to a pay phone on the wall. Ray dug in his pockets for change, Loonies, twonies -- the only thing that made sense about Canada was the way they announced the national insanity with their very currency. Damned polite of them.

***

Franny added an extra marshmallow to Harding Welsh's hot chocolate, then handed him the mug. He took it from her silently. He had been so attentive, coming by every night after work. Not saying much, just being there.

"We could still hear something, couldn't we? I mean, they could still --" Franny swallowed down the rest of the sentence as the lieutenant shot her a warning look. Ma was padding into the kitchen in her robe and slippers. "Ma, you really should try to get some sleep."

Her mother looked at her hands. "How can I sleep when my son is in trouble?" Her voice was rough with all the crying she'd been doing over the past three, no, four days now.

Franny put her hand on her mother's shoulder. "There's nothing you can do right now. We just have to wait." Her mother said nothing. "As long as you're up, you want some hot chocolate?"

Hot chocolate was about all Franny could manage, the only useful contribution she could possibly make. Four days they'd been gone, and the brief flicker of hope inspired when the crash site was finally found, with no bodies, had melted away with the realization that they were alone, probably injured, in the woods. Fraser could cope; he was used to nature. But Ray would never survive.

Her stinging eyes brought Franny back to here and now, and she returned to the cocoa pan, repeating The Lord's Prayer in her mind. She'd been praying for days, but she couldn't put any oomph into the "Thy will be done" part. She kind of glossed over it.

It drove her crazy, not being able to do anything. God was all-powerful; He could save Ray and Benton if he wanted. But Franny didn't like leaving it up to Him, even though she knew that was wrong. Who knew what He'd do? She might never see them again, her brother who might die still hating her and thinking she was a nobody, and Benton, whom she hadn't even had a chance to try to cure before that woman had showed up...and she felt guilty for even thinking about that. The point was, they might be dead already and she was powerless to do anything about it, or to help her mother cope. She could just about manage to make hot chocolate. That was it.

There had to be more to her than this -- this waiting for something to happen.

The ringing phone jangled her and she sloshed scalding cocoa over her hand. Plunking the cup down, she lunged for the receiver. It was two in the morning. This had to be the call. They had to be --

"We're okay. Franny, it's Ray. We're all right."

"Ray? Oh my god, Ray, where _are_ you?" Stupid question, she thought, through her joy. Who cared where they were? They were alive.

"Fort McKay. And lemme tell ya, the night life leaves a little something to be desired."

Ma was reaching for the phone, her face white. "Francesca, let me talk to him. My boy --"

"We're staying at the local bartender's house, the closest thing to a hotel in this place. We'll probably be another couple days --"

"Couple days? What's the matter, are you hurt?"

"Fraser's a little beat up, but once I get his butt in a chair and stuff some food into him, I think he'll be --"

The phone was snatched out of her hands as Ma took over, going a mile a minute in Italian. Franny gazed at her empty hands for a moment and listened to her heart beating with shock and relief. She felt a heavy touch on her shoulder.

"You'd better put some ice on that," Welsh advised, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. She looked up at him and they both smiled.

Ray would tell them all the whole story, she was sure, when they got back. But however they'd survived, nothing Franny had done had made any difference. Men like Benton Fraser, and even her brother -- they took care of themselves, and each other. They overcame insane obstacles, took down the bad guys, risked their lives -- and their mothers and sisters were supposed to just sit there and wait.

Well, that was crap. Let other women wait and cry. Franny wasn't any good at waiting; she wanted to *do* something. She never intended to feel this helpless again.

***

While he reassured Franny, and then his mother, and finally Lieutenant Welsh, Ray watched Fraser tuck into his food, elbows on the bar and a napkin stuck into the neck of his shirt. His bandage needed changing, and he'd definitely lost some weight. And wasn't Benny sitting a little funny? His back must still be bothering him. Ray watched his jaws working and glowed for a moment with relief, and then that queasy sort of feeling was back. His stomach tightened. God, he was hungry.

"I expect to be kept informed, Detective," Welsh said.

"Yes, sir. We'll call you tomorrow as soon as we've checked in with the --"

"And I expect you to cooperate fully with the local authorities."

"Yes, sir. Oh, would you mind calling the Consulate and --"

"I'll let her know."

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

Ray sat down and finally, gratefully, filled his belly. After the third bite he stopped trying to think of words to describe the taste of the stew, but when the bartender handed him a piece of bread to mop up the gravy, Ray looked him right in the eyes and said, "Thank you kindly."

***

The bartender, whose name was Lance, led them out the back door and upstairs to his apartment above the bar. The living room lacked the moose head glaring from the wall, but otherwise shared many characteristics of the bar: dark wood paneling, built-in shelves, aging black and white photos of sports teams, and a general bachelor comfort. There was a fireplace, and an overstuffed sofa against the opposite wall.

"Have a seat. I'll find some blankets."

Ray sank into the cushiony surface while Fraser put some kindling into the grate. "I'm never gonna move again," Ray groaned, his head lolling. Dief jumped up beside him and put his head on Ray's knee.

"You should take the sofa, Ray. I'll be comfortable on the floor."

It figured. "Don't be ridiculous, Fraser. Your back's all screwed up, never mind your gaping head wound."

Fraser poked at the fire. "My head wound is hardly --"

Lance returned, a mound of blankets and pillows in his arms. "The sofa opens out into a bed," he said, dropping the linens on a chair. "Should be plenty of room for both of you if you don't mind sharing."

Ray glanced at Fraser's back, then down at the floor. "No," he said.

"No, that's just fine," Fraser finished for them in cheery tones.

"Bathroom down the hall, first door on your left. Fresh towels in there." Lance yawned. "No tub, just a shower. I'll brush my teeth and then she's all yours." He padded off.

A shower. Suddenly Ray itched all over. "Benny, I'm gonna --"

"Of course, Ray." Fraser still faced the fire. Ray hauled himself out of the sofa and went over to him. Fraser's shoulder was warm with reflected heat, but tense under Ray's hand.

"You okay?"

Fraser stood and turned toward him, reaching out. Ray ached to hold him, but hissed, "The guy could come out of the bathroom any minute, Benny." Fraser's hands dropped limply to his sides, and Ray felt like an asshole. "Hey." Benny didn't look at him. "Hey, bed soon, okay?"

A flushing sound and Lance's retreating steps announced that the bathroom was available. "Oh boy. A hot shower. I'm gonna enjoy this." He looked both ways, then reached for Benny's hand. "You wanna go first?"

Benny met his eyes and smiled tiredly. "After you, Ray." Ray squeezed his hand and Benny returned the pressure.

"Play your cards right and I might leave you some hot water."

Benny's smile was impish now. "And what cards would those be?"

A pause. The light went off in Lance's bedroom. Ray leaned in and kissed Benny, nudging his lips apart gently. He felt cold and achy all over, everywhere but where they touched.

Benny swept his tongue between Ray's lips for a moment, and then pulled away. "Enjoy your shower."

Ray studied him. The man was exhausted, not that he'd admit it. Ray was so very immeasurably glad that they would both get some sleep tonight, in a real bed. So glad that Benny was walking, and talking sense again. Or what passed for sense if you were Fraser. Something twisted his stomach again as he looked at that tired, too-pretty face. "Count on it," he said.

***

The shower ranked right up there next to his first kiss as one of Ray's all-time best experiences. It didn't surprise him at all, then, to have Pop to show up as he was toweling himself off. Leave it to his father to ruin all his favorite moments.

"You gonna go sleep with him now?" Pop sneered.

"Yeah. What's your point?"

"Look what he's turned you into. You've gone soft. Fluttering around, playing nursemaid. You're taking care of him, who's gonna take care of *you*?"

"I'll take care of myself. I always have." God knows you never did, you old bastard. "You should remember that."

"My own son, risking his life for a piece of ass. I don't recognize you anymore."

Ray ground his teeth. "That's great, Pop. Then I guess you got no reason to hang around." He threw his towel at the hook on the back of the bathroom door, pulled his boxers on, and headed out into the woodsmoke-scented living room. His father mercifully did not follow.

Benny had opened the sofa bed, and Ray cringed with guilt at the thought of him risking his injured back. Benny, however, was clearly feeling no pain. He was stretched out on top of the blankets in a clean union suit, hands folded over his chest, sound asleep. Dief was curled up next to him with his tail over his nose. An amber glow from the fire was the only light in the room.

Gingerly, Ray opened his pack and took out a fresh t-shirt and shorts. While he put them on, he whispered, "Dief. Dief! C'mon, wake up."

Diefenbaker was having none of it. Ray moved over to the bed and shoved at h im. "Move your overfed butt, you lazy furball. *I'm* sleeping there."

Dief sighed, opened his eyes, and fixed Ray with a put-upon glare.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, ya mutt." Dief got up slowly, stretched, and finally moved to settle at Fraser's feet, never dropping his aggrieved look.

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge," Ray muttered as he climbed under the covers. Benny didn't move. There was a lot of heat coming off him and Ray wondered as if from a great distance whether he might have a fever. His last waking thought was that he wanted to press a kiss to Benny's forehead and feel if he was too hot, but he fell asleep before he could figure out how to do it without waking him up.

***

Ray woke, his heart beating wildly. It was still dark, and for a minute he didn't know where he was. Then he heard Dief's light snores from the foot of the bed, and laid his head back down on the pillow in relief. The fire had gone out and it was pitch black, but he could hear Fraser breathing gently next to him.

What had he been dreaming? He couldn't remember, but whatever it was had bugged him. Fraser...something. Violence. Fear.

He'd been arguing with his father, Fraser slung over his back. Fraser was dying. They had to get to safety. He'd put Fraser on the raft, they'd be safe if they could just get down the river...but the raft had sped away without him, taking Fraser away, helpless, getting smaller and smaller, and then...had Ray fallen in? He couldn't remember. Just the enormity of his fear, so extreme he felt he must have been screaming in his sleep.

Rolling over toward Benny, Ray pulled the blankets up over his ear. Go back to sleep, he told himself. You're fine. He's fine. Just a dream.

Exhausted as he was, limbs drugged with sleep, Ray's mind was keyed up like crazy. Snippets of songs floated around in there, dream a little dream of me, when I want you in my arms, when I want you and all your charms...and his father's voice, "Look what he's turned you into." Water, cold, all around him. "I don't trust you," he told Fraser, and Fraser smiled and kissed him. Should be warm but he was cold, so cold...water up to his chin now. Fraser pushing him...pushing him under..."I don't recognize you anymore."

Ray sat up, shivering. What the hell was wrong with him? They were finally safe, and *now* he was panicking?

Safe. Maybe. He was worried about Benny. He wouldn't feel okay about things until he'd seen the x-rays himself.

Maybe not even then. "You've gone soft." Shit. So he'd saved Benny's life for a change. So what? You did that when you loved people. You did that, Ray corrected himself, when you were a cop. Perfectly normal. Done it a dozen times.

So how come it never felt like this before?

He lay back down, still shivering, trying to breathe normally. Benny sighed and shifted, his arm sliding around Ray. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

Ray moved closer to him, realizing this was the first time they'd really *slept* together, in an actual bed, unafraid for their lives. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"Okay," Benny answered in a funny high voice. His arm over Ray relaxed as he passed out again, if he'd ever really been awake in the first place. Ray's heart ached.

What are you doing to me? he thought.

***

Fraser woke with the sun, blinking into the pinkish light of dawn. His surroundings formed around him. Lance's apartment. On a fold-out sofa. There was a spring digging into his hip. He rolled over and contemplated Ray lying next to him.

Ray's features were smoothed in sleep, but a furrow remained between his brows. His olive skin was darkly tanned, and he must have shaved last night, because his chin lacked any morning blueness and there was a small red scrape near his left ear. Fraser longed to curl himself around him, but he knew if Ray woke up he'd have words to say about that.

Ironic that this was the first time they'd actually slept in a bed together.

Fraser lifted himself gingerly from the thin mattress, grimacing against the pain in his head. It had throbbed continuously since the crash, although it was much better this morning than it had been even yesterday, only making itself felt when he moved suddenly. A shower would feel good, and then he could inspect the wound and change the dressing if necessary.

Dief looked up as he left the bed, and Fraser mouthed "Stay with him." Dief snorted at him and closed his eyes.

Fraser's legs were still a bit stiff, but he certainly felt better for a full night's bed rest. His stomach growled as he crept into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he got his first look at himself in nearly a week. The bloodied bandage was loose and had sagged over his eyebrow, and his hair looked as though birds had been nesting in it. Stubble darkened his face, and bruises were evident on his torso, shrunken and anaemic-looking after four days with little food and less water.

"A fine picture of manhood, son," his father said.

Gingerly, Fraser peeled off the bandage. "Did you come just to mock me?"

"Just wondering what you think you're doing with yourself."

"Apparently, I'm returning to duty following a brief hiking holiday, no thanks to you." He dabbed at the cut, which was red around the edges. It should have healed by now.

"I'm talking about the Yank."

"Look, Dad, if this is going to be a lecture about the natural order of things --"

"He needs you to be honest with him."

Fraser blinked. His father's reflection, in full dress reds now instead of the fur-lined anorak, regarded him with sincerity.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Buck Frobisher hid a twisted ankle from me for nearly a week when we were on the trail of Scaggs McNesby. By the time we brought him in, Buck's foot was so swollen we had to cut his boot off. Laid him up for a month."

Fraser swallowed. "Are you going to be coming to a point any time soon?"

"Thing was, Buck's little charade was pointless. I knew all the time. You can hide a limp, but you can't hide the pain, not from your partner."

Dropping the bandage into the wastebasket, Fraser ground his teeth. Dead or not, his father was the most annoying man in the world. Then he stopped cold, startled by the echo of Ray in his thoughts. "Dad, I --"

Gone. As usual.

You can't hide the pain. That was all very well for Buck Frobisher, but Fraser knew himself. He would be fine. They would both be fine.

He turned on the shower and stepped gratefully under the spray.

***

"Ray, we have our duty to attend to."

Ray paced the room, finding stray bits of clothing and shoving them into his pack with less than his customary care.

"I know that, Fraser, and trust me, we *will* attend to it. But first, we gotta get you to a doctor."

Fraser continued folding the bed linens. "But I feel fine."

"Fine? You were in a plane crash, for God's sake! You walked around blind for a day and then got carried around blind for two more days because you couldn't walk. That cut on your forehead hasn't healed, and oh, did I mention you were down to ten percent dehydration the other day? And you've had nothing in your stomach but furry nightcrawlers for the past forty-eight hours!"

"That's just not true, Ray. We've had a fine beef stew and water, and this morning we can actually buy a good breakfast. After which, we will go promptly to the RCMP outpost and notify them of our situation."

"Before which, we will go promptly to the hospital." Ray had stopped pacing and packing, and was now standing red-faced in front of him. "Fraser, talk sense for a change. The guy's dead. He's not gonna get any deader. There's no emergency. Our first priority is getting you some medical care."

"The nearest hospital is sixty-five kilometers away."

"You'd run all sixty-five of 'em if you thought someone else needed help."

"But I *don't* need help!" Sweat prickled on Fraser's upper lip, and he felt his ears heating. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Don't start that again, or I will tell you all of the many things that are *completely* wrong with you!" Ray yelled. "You are not making this decision, Fraser! I am making it. You are going to the doctor. Period."

Annoyance tightened Fraser's empty gut. "You don't trust me to make a decision about my own health?"

Ray got right in his face, as the expression was. He regarded Fraser coldly for a moment, and then said, as though chipping the words out of ice, "You're damn right I don't trust you."

Fraser spun away, reeling as though he'd been slapped. His fists were clenched, nails digging into the palms. He willed himself to release them, flexing his fingers to get blood back into his hands. He breathed, blinking rapidly. "'To place absolute trust on another human being is in itself a disaster,'" he said at last, fluffing his pillow, "'since each human being is a ship that must sail its own course -- '"

"And you sailed yours right off a cliff, Fraser." The evenness of Ray's voice was alarming.

"If you recall, you were the one steering the raft." Fraser remained focused on the pillow, bracing himself for the verbal onslaught. It never came.

"I'm not talking about that," Ray said quietly, "and you know it." After a moment, Fraser heard him go into the bathroom.

Fraser swallowed and sat down on the stripped sofabed. His hands tightened into fists again, clutching the pillow. He looked down mindlessly at the thing he was holding, and then flung it aside. Ray had said this, about not trusting him, once before. At the time, Fraser hadn't taken him at his word. Perhaps he should have.

He wondered if Ray was still counting the number of times Fraser had risked their lives.

He got up, and bent to fold up the bed. As he grasped the metal frame and pulled, a twinge in his back forced him to straighten up in a hurry. The end of the bed crashed to the floor. The noise was oddly satisfying.

The bathroom door opened, and Ray poked his head out. "You okay?" Ray's voice was flat, his face still set.

"I'm fine, Ray," he replied automatically. Ray just stared at him. "Ah, actually...I could, I could use some help putting this away, if you've got a moment."

Ray's eyes narrowed a moment, and then his expression relaxed. "Sure, Fraser." Together they pulled and pushed, and the bed went smoothly back into place. Fraser let Ray replace the sofa cushions.

"Hey, thanks for that," Lance said from behind him.

"My grandmother said that a guest should always clean up after himself." Fraser turned and handed Lance the pile of folded bedclothes.

"Hey, Lance, you got a doctor in this town?" Ray was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward, his hands between his knees.

Lance shook his head. "Nearest doctor's in Fort MacMurray, about sixty-five kilometres from here." He looked at his watch. "I could drive you. I don't have to open the bar until noon."

Fraser looked at Ray. Ray was looking right back at him.

Fraser cleared his throat. "Thank you, Lance. We'd -- ah, we'd appreciate that."

***

Following an enormous breakfast at Fort McKay's lone diner, Lance gave them a ride to the hospital in Fort MacMurray in his truck, a delapidated behemoth that felt as if it were about to shiver itself to pieces at every bump in the road. Ray grumbled that rust was all that was holding the truck together. Fraser sat stiffly upright, tightening his abdominal muscles and trying to brace his spine against the onslaught. Perhaps seeing the doctor was an idea that had merit.

When they pulled up to the hospital's main entrance, Fraser told Lance they'd be making Fort MacMurray's RCMP station their home base, and offered his thanks. He then had to prevent Ray from offering him money. There was a brief squabble over whether Canadian hospitality was stupid, and Fraser felt relief at the return to their usual dynamic.

Nevertheless, he couldn't resist feeling smug when Dr. Wells pronounced him ready to return to active duty. Overnight observation was unnecessary, and the x-rays showed the subdural hematoma was shrinking rapidly. With a bagful of pills -- antibiotics for the infection that had attacked the cut on his forehead, muscle relaxant for his back (which Fraser vowed not to use), and ibuprofen for his assorted other aches and twinges -- Fraser rejoined Ray in the waiting room.

"Dr. Wells confirmed my suspicions, Ray. There's nothing wrong with me."

Ray stood up, looking unconvinced. "Yeah? So what's that in your hand, huh, Fraser?"

"This? Oh, well, there's some erythromycin --" Fraser stopped. Now it was Ray who looked smug.

"I'll bet he told you to get some sleep, too," Ray smirked.

Well, this was a bit chafing. "He did suggest I rest somewhat more than usual," a directive he had planned to ignore, "to expedite the healing process..."

Ray smiled the smile of a man who could afford to be magnanimous. "Come on, Fraser, let's go check in with your Mountie pals."

***

The "Mountie pals" of Fort MacMurray were quite serious about the case, soberly questioning them both for serveral hours and then, as Ray said, "dragging them over hill and dale, dammit" back to the scene of the bola incident.

Back in Fort MacMurray, they booked rooms in the Best Western, a plan Fraser was too tired to object to. Ray seemed tickled by the notion that Fort MacMurray *had* a Best Western, prompting Fraser to address the subject of Canadian hospitality once again until Ray begged him to shut up. Following the doctor's orders looked more appealing with each passing moment, and Fraser went to his room and slept.

Ray's familiar knock woke him from a light doze. He glanced at the hotel's clock radio, glowing red in the dark. Not quite suppertime. He rose and went to the door.

Ray had taken some trouble with his appearance. True, they had only the clothes they'd brought with them for their vacation, but Ray had showered and shaved since this afternoon's trek out to the river, and he'd donned a shirt Fraser had admired in the past, a steel blue broadcloth, now a little too worn for work. A whiff of Ivory soap clung to him.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"I'm...doing fine, Ray." Fraser held the door open. "Come in."

Ray entered the room and sat on one of the room's two beds, the one Fraser had been sleeping on. He squinted. "You look tired."

"I was just napping," Fraser admitted, and then clenched his jaw hard to trap a yawn.

"Come here," Ray said, holding out his hands. Fraser could have wept with relief. They weren't going to fight. They weren't going to talk. He sat down on the bed and they wrapped their arms around each other. "I figured, we got one night in a hotel room, a zillion miles away from everyone," Ray's voice was rough in his ear. "Why waste it?"

Is he still angry with me? Fraser wondered. He wouldn't ask. Just sitting here like this, wanting and being wanted, was all he needed at this moment. He kissed Ray's neck, felt the pulse under his lips. Ray shivered. Fraser laid a trail of kisses up behind his ear, stopped to mouth the lobe, and began unbuttoning Ray's shirt.

They moved slowly but intensely. Fraser pushed Ray's shirt aside. Ray took the time to untie his shoes rather than just toeing them off. Fraser watched him step out of his trousers and carefully fold them, laying them on a chair. He removed his own clothes efficiently, stretching his fatigued muscles as he pulled his shirt over his head. Naked, they slid under the covers.

For a few moments they just lay together, Fraser draped half across Ray's chest, kissing with idle care. Ray was hard against his thigh. Fraser's cock ached, but his back ached more. Slow and steady wins the race, he thought, and smiled against Ray's cheek.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm just...enjoying this."

"Hey, glad to help --"

"Sshhh..." Fraser kissed Ray and pulled himself more fully on top of him, aligning their cocks together and bucking slightly. Ray groaned into his mouth, a low rumble, and grabbed his backside with both hands. Fraser thrust again, and he was leaking now, easing the way. Ray arched against him, breaking the kiss to breathe. His exhale tickled Fraser's ear, cool and hot at once.

The hotel soap smell gave way to Ray's heady scent, and the denser smell of sex -- the smell the two of them made, as they thrust and sweated. Fraser loved it.

He sucked Ray's tongue into his mouth and one of Ray's fingers slipped down to stroke the cleft of his ass, circling lightly. It was maddening. He moved to try to get more contact against his throbbing cock and yet not lose that sweet hot pressure behind. Ray chuckled and clutched him tightly, moving just a little harder against him, fore and aft, and that was all, that was it, that was enough, and he was falling, falling.

He moved through it as Ray kissed his face, holding his ass in one hand and his head in the other, bucking and grunting through the mess on their bellies until he came too.

They did nothing but breathe for a while, their faces turned away from each other as they gulped air. The aftershocks coursed quietly through Fraser's body. That was good. He had needed it, but he hadn't known it. They hadn't made love since...

Fraser closed his eyes against the need to speak. He had wanted this night to be simple. But he also wanted Ray to understand.

"It's Victoria," he said across Ray's shoulder. "That's why you don't trust me."

"It's *you*, Benny. You never even told me you liked women." Ray sounded so calm, his voice oddly flat. "Then just when things were getting good, she showed up, and you disappeared on me."

"I wasn't...Ray, you have to understand, I wasn't myself."

Ray shifted under him, and they moved apart, still touching. "You didn't *tell* me. I didn't know who she was, what she was to you..."

You didn't trust me, Fraser heard, unspoken but plain as day for all that.

"I did try to tell you once, a few months ago. We were on a stakeout, the Bodine case."

Ray's forehead creased, and he shut his eyes. "I fell asleep. Oh god, Benny, you must have thought..."

"You disappeared a little yourself, then."

"Nah, I just got conked on the head pretty hard," Ray said, propping himself up on one elbow. "I was never in love with her."

Or so you believe, Fraser thought, but he said nothing. Ray looked at him intently.

"It's not that you don't know my limits, Fraser. I get that. It drives me crazy, but that, I can live with. But you don't know *your* limits. Sometimes I think you don't *have* any limits. And that scares me to death."

Fraser looked down, picked stray fuzz off the bedspread. "Ray, Victoria was...an aberration. She made me -- I made myself -- I went to extremes." He met Ray's eyes. "It's true. But that is never going to happen again."

Ray blinked slowly, like a wolf sizing up another predator, or its prey. Abruptly, he shook his head and laughed. "So you're never gonna jump out a window again? Or throw yourself in front of a bus? I'm supposed to believe that Constable Benton Fraser is never gonna go to extremes again?"

Fraser schooled his face against a grin. "Well, in the line of duty, Ray --"

"Aahhh," Ray muttered, waving dismissively. He got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. "I give up."

Sleep was fast overtaking Fraser. He wondered vaguely about ordering something from room service, but gave a jaw-cracking yawn and resettled himself on his pillow. "Ray?"

The water was running.

"Ray!"

"What?" A few splashes, the faucet turned off. More splashing.

"I can't help observing, as you yourself pointed out, that we are hundreds of miles from anyone who knows us, and we are not under any kind of surveillance. Nor are we on a stakeout ourselves. It's true, Inspector Petrie has asked us to report back to the station tomorrow morning, but I took the liberty of questioning his assistant, Constable MacDonald, who informed me that he won't be in until 10:30 am due to a dentist's appointment."

"Fraser," Ray called from behind the door, "if you get near a point, would you mind letting me know?"

"Ah. Well, I was wondering if you, given all these circumstances as I have outlined them -- would you consider sleeping in my room tonight?"

Ray walked out of the bathroom. "Ah, Benny, you know we can't."

Fraser sat up. "But, surely no one at the hotel will notice, or even care --"

Ray made a placating gesture, then looked around the room, found his underwear, and put it on. "We can't get sloppy, Fraser. Housekeeping comes by. The Mounties call you in the middle of the night, and I forget and answer your phone. And you know those guys are writing everything up in their reports -- they're fanatics about paperwork." He smiled and stepped into his trousers. "I can see where you get it from."

Fraser ignored these diversionary tactics. "Your concern isn't logical," he began, and Ray crossed the room and took his hand.

He crouched beside Fraser, looking earnest. "Look, you know I want to. But we can't take the risk." Ray's kiss was fleeting but firm. "Now don't ruin our evening, huh? Get dressed and we'll go have some dinner."

Fraser cupped the back of Ray's neck and pulled him back for another kiss, a deeper one. Ray hummed into it, and Fraser wanted him so much he felt helpless, sliding his hand down Ray's chest to his fly...

Ray caught his hand and squeezed it. "You lunatic," he smiled, "I just got cleaned up." He kissed Fraser again, but it was a kiss with finality in it. "Come on, I'm starving here."

Chastened, Fraser withdrew. He looked at his feet and considered. Though his hunger was of a different sort, his body could probably do with supper. And clearly, Ray's mind was made up.

A flicker of fear passed through him. He waved it away in his mind before it could solidify into something recognizable, and stretched his back gently. The pain lingered, but he felt himself growing more flexible.

"Very well, Ray." He reached for his clothes.


End file.
